A poet who has conquered the internet, he is also a theater actor, stand-up comic and proud gay father. Spoken word artist and performer Yossi Zabari - Yossi’s videos are catchier than the Black Plague. Last year, she won Israel’s Ophir Prize for Best Short Film for her film “Ordinary Day.” Writer, director and actress Bat-El Moseri - Bat-El, who grew up in a religious, underprivileged home in Bat Yam, is a Mizrahi LGBTQ artist whose creations express the variety of identities that she embodies. In South Tel Aviv with its cultural mishmash, he feels he is an “other amongst others,” a feeling that comes across in his work.Ĭhoreographer Dege Feder - Dege founded the modern dance company “Beta Dance,” where she combines traditional Ethiopian dance with all kinds of contemporary styles. Painter Durar Bacri - A realist painter, Darur’s work juxtaposes the old and the new in South Tel Aviv, where he feels the most at home. Rapper and singer Orit Tashoma - An artist of Ethiopian decent, Orit manages to find optimism in the deepest depths, speaking, rapping, and singing about the challenges that face her community, from immigration to systematic racism. Her creations bridge cultures, struggles and identities and communities. In June, Ellyot was listed as one the top 40 most influential people in the LGBT community.ĭirector and filmmaker Iris Zaki - Iris makes films that question how communities are represented. Musician, DJ, singer, composer broadcaster Ellyot Ben Ezer - As the soloist in the funk rock band, Pollyana Frank, Ellyot began her career as a critic on issues of sex, gender, chauvinism and feminism in 1989.
They can move us, shake us, and to force us to dream of a different future like System Ali did for me all those years ago. Each of the fourteen incredible Israeli artists and creators who we decided to support has the ability to spark the imagination and resilience in an astonishing way. His voice echoed in my head over the last year as I worked with my colleagues at the Nathan Cummings Foundation to find ways to help essential artists continue making art through the pandemic. On Zoom, we were talking about essential workers when he leaned in and said: “Who are they to tell me I’m not essential? How dare they decide that arts don’t count.” A couple of months into the pandemic, I now work at the New Israel Fund and the redheaded accordionist is one of my closest friends - I call him my rabbi. It was that band, System Ali, and their music that pulled me out of my despair and right back into hope and action.įast forward more than a decade. For a few brief moments, I could feel belonging and togetherness instead of just division and fear. A redheaded accordionist started to play, and his bandmates jumped in with strings, drums, and rap vocals in Russian, Arabic, Amharic, and Hebrew. As I stood on the crowded dance floor, a dozen musicians took the stage. That night, I hadn’t felt like going out, but I let my friends drag me to a benefit concert. Israel was at war with Gaza, too many innocent people were dying, and it didn’t seem like people cared much, if at all. I was living in Israel at the time and, despite being a generally hopeful person, I had taken a real dip into despair. Standing in a sweaty bar in South Tel Aviv twelve years ago, I wanted to be anywhere else. New Israel Fund’s “Essential Artists” tell untold stories, build bridges, and collaborate with activist movements for social change - all through a pandemic.
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